Disclaimer: I was a friend and fan of John Wallowitch. But let’s be serious, who wasn’t? What might have seemed at first glance by the uniniatated to be merely an unabashed advertsement for himself was really a manifestation of his cheerleadership for all of us. The entire human race was eligible. If after all charity begins at home, so does self promotion. Another composer/lyricist, Bryan Spencer (also a friend and also a brilliant human racer) thought John’s work singular. And so it was.

For many years New Yorkers were able to tune into public access cable and be treated to the serenading, interspersed with personal and political asides, of this nattily blacktied, bespectacled troubadour. Music and musings—that’s show biz. Which reminds me, John would have died for Irving Berlin’s sins, though according to JW Mr. B had none. To further mix metaphors, for John, Irving’s Eastside manse was Mecca.

Late this past spring at an intimate salon gathering, Wallowitch gave a concert which turned out to be his last and from it comes this his final recording. On it is a comprehensive sampling of what made him so very special. From sly and witty observations of the foibles we all share and gleefully revel in discovering in others ("Dear Nameless") or playful paean on ones ‘hood ("Moon Over Beekman Place") to the shameless unguarded moments of wistful tristesse that surely were nestled forever deep in his being ("Taking Things For Granted"), John’s songs give an insight to and of us all.

But a picture is worth a thousand words and if by chance you’re still not intrigued, find a back issue of Cabaret Scenes September 2005 and turn to the full page photograph on page 29 illustrating the Peter Leavy penned piece about John Wallowitch. You will instantly understand where John’s emotional vocabulary comes from. Art, as well as charity, begins at home.

Noah Tree
Cabaret Scenes
December 2007
www.cabaretscenes.org